


Dancing in a Snow Globe (Round and Round)

by unspecified (modernscience)



Series: Meandering through (until I find you) [4]
Category: Fashion Model RPF, Karlie Kloss - Fandom, Kaylor - Fandom, Taylor Swift (Musician)
Genre: F/F, Vignettes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 07:56:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6230149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/modernscience/pseuds/unspecified
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>i) Rome-NY<br/>ii) Paris-LA<br/>iii) Singapore-NY<br/>(based on <a href="http://karlieskupkake.tumblr.com/post/140892233243/i-came-straight-from-singapore-i-came-straight">this</a> with some modifications of time and place)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dancing in a Snow Globe (Round and Round)

**Author's Note:**

> So apparently I love planes so much because no matter what I do the stories seems to always shape around it. Anyway with the recent Kaylor Awakening I had to do it, y'know.

i).

 

It feels funny, running through the hospital corridor in a couture gown. Your 5-inch heels clicks and clacks as they hit the dull gray linoleum floor, the sound reverberates loud enough to garner glaring looks from the nurses on duty. The St. Louis Girl inside you wants to apologize for the noise, wants to take off those damn Loubutins and just do it barefoot but fuck that, you've got a more pressing matter at hand. If you're being honest with yourself, the whole thing is straight out of a Grey’s Anatomy episode. Thankfully real life isn’t as dramatic - not in this instance anyway.

 

“Excuse me, I’m looking for Ms. Swift?”

 

The nurse looks like he recognizes you, or at least trying to put a name on your familiar face, but he hides it well and maintains a professional approach. “Room 229. Down the right corridor, it’s the room at the end.”

 

You thank him and before he gets the chance to say another word you’re already on your way. She told you it wasn’t so bad and that’s what you’ve been telling yourself since you got the news some 12 hours ago, but your insides feels like jelly now that you're so close to her and your nerves have been on a very high alert so the sooner you get to see for yourself, the better.

 

“Christ.”

 

She has one foot suspended in traction, the other one propped on top of a pillow and her neck is secured with a brace, her gaze fixated on the flickering but mute TV. You’re not entirely sure what you were expecting to see though if you were being completely honest this looks nothing like what you had imagined. Everything throws you off - this doesn’t look like “just a tumble” at all.

 

“I’d look at you but I sorta can’t move my head right now.”

 

“I left you alone for three days and this is what happened?” There’s a hint of annoyance in your voice and you immediately regret it.

 

“Okay, this isn’t a picnic for me, either.”

 

You give her a kiss on the forehead as your apology, and you can feel her smile when you kiss her lips. It’s soft and warm and playful just like always, and even though she’s right in front of you, the sudden realization of how much you've been missing her is enough to make you lean in and kiss her again, slow and unhurried. There’s guilt for having to cut your trip short and not attending the after parties your team has arranged for you - a thought you quickly squash away - and this isn’t exactly what you both had in mind for your reunion after months apart, but she’s here. You’re here.

 

When you finally have enough self control to pull back, her eyes land on the red gown you’ve had on since 9 AM. “Whoa, Nelly.”

 

“I told you I’m coming in straight from Rome.”

 

“I wasn’t expecting _that_ , though.”

 

“You like it?”

 

“Mmm… I prefer you in jeans and T-shirt.”

 

“Jerk.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

ii).

 

“Damn this fucking thing!”

 

The last thing you want after a 12-hour flight is to have a fight with part of the house, but the front door feels like its got a mind of its own so you give it a push with your foot as soon as you yank the key out, somehow wanting to convey to it that you’ve won.

 

Thin veil of exhaustion finally wraps itself around you as you adjust to the heat and the new surrounding. She had done a great job at renovating it - you give her points for her taste in interior decoration - and this is the first time you're seeing the entirety of the place with your own eyes even though she had given you a set of keys months before. You can still smell the faint whiff of paint and throughout the hallway, rows of blown-up polaroid shots are still standing on the floor, leaning against the wall and covered in giant white cloth. You see boxes with your name on it piled up in the corner by the piano and not until then does it hit you that this place is not just hers, it's yours as well.

 

You call out her name, your voice echoes through as you set your bags down. There’s no answer from the girl in question, so you call again.

 

“Taylor?”

 

You find her lying diagonally on the bed, hugging a pillow and snoring ever so lightly (she will later deny this). On the table, she’d set a small plate of chocolate covered strawberries and even gotten a bottle of champagne chilled on ice. One of the chairs is almost covered with wrapped gifts, a Welcome Home banner draped on top of them. You’re smiling so wide and you can feel the goosebumps running along your spine and spreading through your entire body. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve seen a variation of this scenario, though usually with the other person awake and the banner finished and properly hung, this isn’t something you feel like you’ll get used to.

 

She looks so peaceful and you can spot the soft black shade under her eyes and there's a part of you that feels guilty for waking her up. You call her name again, gently, your fingers barely grazing her shoulder.

 

“Hey, Babe.” Then, sheepishly: “I fell asleep.”

 

“Mm hmm. I can see that.”

 

“You wanna go out later? Have a nice dinner?”

 

“Yeah, but I need a shower first.”

 

“Okay. I’ll be up in 5 minutes.”

 

You end up crawling into bed with her, burying your face in the crook of her neck, breathing her in like she's oxygen as she wraps her arms around your waist. Chinese takeout and house dance parties are way better anyway.

 

 

* * *

 

 

iii).

 

("There isn’t a _specific_ moment," you tell yourself and everybody else who's always asking the same question, and you realize how incredibly cheesy and general it is, although what else can you say when it’s the truth? When you know, you know. It's not rocket science).

 

The first time you felt it, it was a warm humid 4th of July and you were both holding sparklers, using them to write each other’s names in the air. Austin had taken the photo,now prominently displayed in the living room.

 

(She FaceTimed you from Singapore just before her plane took off and boy were you glad to see her face again even if it’s only from a screen. The hollow on her cheeks are starting to show and her hair has grown slightly longer since the last time.)

 

When you made your mind up, a blizzard had taken over New York and you were both stuck in your apartment with candles and emergency light surrounding the kitchen. The conversation flow from one to another, and you’re not even sure how it got to that point, but you (half) jokingly said you would marry her one day.

 

“I’m gonna hold you to that.”

 

(She walks in and wraps you in a hug and showers you with kisses and god damnit you miss the taste of her so bad you can hardly make a coherent thought. You don't even make it into the bedroom and the sound of your name escaping her lips in a moan is like hearing Hallelujah. "That was fun when you see it in movies, but let's never do that again," she quips. "What, you don't like sex on a staircase?" "I almost broke my back, I'll have you know." "Well next time we'll do it slower." "No thanks. I need flat surfaces and proper lumbar support.")

 

You blame it on lack of experience and if that wasn't one of the hardest lesson you've had to learn, then you don't know what is. It looked like it had been damaged beyond repair when she storms out after a particularly loud argument and you weren't sure what made you flinch - the look on her face or the way she slammed the door so hard you could almost hear the glass crack. You thought about going after her but ultimately decided that she needed her own space, so you booked a last minute job in London and flew out the first chance you got. She showed up in front of your hotel door on Friday morning; red puffy eyes with mascara-stained streaks running along her cheeks. She collapsed into your arms and you held onto her for dear life, repeatedly saying “I’m sorry” like a sinner hoping for absolution. You swore on whatever version of deity that exists that it won’t happen again. Not like that, _ever_.

 

(You’re down on one knee and she thought you were joking at first, waving you off. You remind her that the floor actually hurts your knees so she better let you finish now or else you're gonna have to do this while sitting down, now where's the romance in that? When she finally realizes what's happening, her eyes were so wide you thought for a second they were about to pop out and her hands fly to her mouth - "Karlie what are you doing? What are you doing? What are you doing?" You show her the ring and you can see the tears welling up in her eyes. She hasn’t given you her answer, but you figure it’s the one you’re hoping for.)


End file.
